


The Beautiful and Cruel

by JustKeepWriting



Category: Villainous (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, M/M, a very demonic fairy, also little red riding hood AU, dark fairytale au, fairies can be unkind, tbh i dont know what im doing i created this AU an hour ago, yes black hat is a fairy in this AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-10 20:20:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13509069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustKeepWriting/pseuds/JustKeepWriting
Summary: Seven days. That's how long you must survive the Forest and its fair folk.All you're armed with is a red cape, a basket, and your wit. Survive the woods for seven days, and make it to Grandmother's house. Don't fall for their tricks, don't eat their food, and certainly don't trust handsome men in top hats. Seven days. This should be easy to survive.





	1. Prologue

The Forest is cursed with beautiful creatures. 

 

Creatures who hide behind dainty smiles and extravagant masks, intent on leading a traveller astray from their path. Creatures who lure wayward children away from home’s comfort, with the promise of exotic sweets and delicacies. Fair creatures, mistaken for angels and legendary for their unnatural beauty, who can literally steal your breath away with a kiss.

 

These creatures are beautiful, yes. Beautiful but cruel. 

 

It is common knowledge that venturing into the forest means death. At least, that’s what many assume. That’s what many would  _ like _ to assume. Death is the kind fate to assume for those who lose their way through the Forest. (The screams heard from the Forest during witching hour, prove otherwise)

 

You never thought you’d ever step a foot into the Forest. Your parents raised you smartly.  _ Don’t go looking for adventure, unless you want Death to come to you.  _ So, you grew up perfectly content staying within your uneventful village, a quaint community nestled near a waterfall. After all, that’s all you ever grew up to know.

 

Maybe that was naive to believe. You were so certain everything was in it’s right place, that things could stay the same forever.

 

But the Forest always wants its tribute. And tributes have a funny way of being paid, eventually and inevitably. 

  
  



	2. In Which You Receive a Witch's Blessing(s)

It all began when the waterfall dried up.

 

It rather depressed you, though. You and your family lived closest to the waters. The rushing water was always the first thing you heard in the mornings. Now, it’s nothing but jagged rocks and dried up soil. Distress and a twinge of foreboding plagued your sleep for the days to come.

 

 _A drought_ , is what the Elders murmured amongst themselves. _We haven’t seen a drought for decades_. The villagers, ignorantly blissful at first, only gossiped merrily about theories and old wives’ tales. _No need to worry about the water yet._ _Greenburrow yonder will trade with us!_ The farmers mumbled their concerns to each other. _If the water comes back in a week’s time, we’ll manage till then._ After all, harvest was bountiful, and there was plenty of storage water to go around.

 

The drought, for a short while, was nothing but a mild inconvenience. The summer season brought a good mood ontoward the people. The sun continues shining and the birds keep on chirping. Life continued.

 

Three days later, optimism died with the crops.

 

Everything comes undone by a weed. A parasite. A deadly poison. It attached itself to the crops, infecting and leeching the roots. Fields upon fields are ravaged, becoming graveyards for withered husks. There was no time to panic.

 

Soon followed the cattle.

 

Horses and oxen, lean and muscled, rapidly deteriorate before people’s eyes into skeletal shells. The poor creatures simply dropped dead from starvation. Chickens are found lifeless in their coops, and died quietly into limp feathers. As for the sheep...well, there were no bodies found for the _sheep_.

 

People are talking of curses now. This happened before, to neighboring villages. Cursed by the fair folk, the Forest, the witches.

 

 _But what have we done to offend them?_ Everyone wondered.

 

 

* * *

 

Who knew a random slip of paper bearing your name, would be your undoing?

 

You stand with the Elders, stone faced and expressionless. A sea of faces stare back at you. Many avoid looking you in the eye. Some are shaking their heads. Others whisper to each other. They all share the same expression. Condolence.

 

Save for your parents. Your father has to hold mother back from blindly attacking the Elders and dragging you back to her arms. Her grief is fury. A mother’s unconditional love. Father is quiet, but tears shine in his eyes. You avoid looking at _them_ especially, else you might start crying in front of the entire village.

 

You could barely hear what the Sage Elder is saying. Maybe you didn’t want to hear. You already know the truth.

 

You’re being sent into the Forest. Shipped ontoward your demise.

 

* * *

 

You pretend to sleep, but the thin walls couldn’t drown your parents’ voices.

 

“They are young! They’re our child -!”

 

“We can’t do anything about it. The Elders―”

 

“Elders be damned! How could you be so accepting of this―”

 

“I don’t want this. Not for them.”

 

Tears finally slip out your eyes. Their cries are unbearable.

 

* * *

 

The cape is insultingly beautiful.

 

Is it possible for a color to look like _that_? It’s the richest red you’ve ever laid your eyes on.

 

It’s the type of red fit for kings and queens who live far from the poor villages and merciless Forest. The type of red you’d see in the perfect summer’s apple, a ripen strawberry, a blossomed wildflower. The type of red you admired in the marketplace, looking but never touching the pretty red dresses and delicate red wools. You could have _never_ worn anything so colorful, because dyes are expensive.

 

Just looking at it gave you warmth in the heart. Too beautiful for you to wear. A tad ethereal.

 

The Sage Elder offers it to you in open hands. Her face is complacent, not betraying an ounce of emotion. You weren’t sure if you were insulted or relieved. Tired, so tired you are from the neighbors’ pity and your parents’ unbearable grief. You make no move for the cape.

 

“A gift from the village.” She finally says when you couldn’t answer. The Elder goes ahead and drapes the garment on your shoulders. “No villager spared a thread for you.” The Elder adds on, as if that was comforting.

 

You run your fingers down the hem. Soft. Velvety. Patterns are stitched into the cape, depicting flowers and spirals. You even saw a waterfall.

 

Anguish bleeds into your heart.

 

* * *

 

Everyone came to the dried waterfall to bid you farewell.

 

They are silent and somber, as they watch a tearful goodbye. You stand there frozen under your parents’ intense embrace. You blink desperately at the sky, willing away the tears. Father wipes them for you, before they could fall. Everything aches inside, already crying out for home. All you could do is hug back.

 

“They must leave while it’s still day.” An Elder quietly reminds you from the sidelines.

 

Mother only tosses them a cold glare, and pushes a basket into your hands. The basket is plain and unextraordinary, but practical. Relatively light. The handles are leather and buckles protect the contents from tumbling out.

 

She kisses your cheek, and grabs your hands.

 

“My child. My _only_ child.” She whispers, cupping your face. “You are so loved. Return to us, please.”

 

Your father gives you a kiss on your forehead. He dries your eyes with his handkerchief, worn from time but still a pretty baby blue. He tucks it into your hand, and closes your fingers around it. You clutch it close to your heart.

 

“[Name.]” Is all he could muster, but his eyes say everything.

 

* * *

 

 

They call her a witch. Old Woman Callows, outcasted from the village. Too magical among humans, too human for the Forest. She belonged neither here nor there, so she settled for what she could take. She made her own home, nestled in the waterfall outskirts and the creeping edges of the Forest. The halfway point.

 

You stare at the wooden door. It’s not intimidating. The shack looks shabby from the distance. Weeds and ivy curl around the posts, the windows, and flowers. Uncared and forgotten. Most of all, it looks nothing like a house a _witch_ would live in.

 

You knock anyway.

 

You straighten your back, expecting for the door to swing open. A few seconds drift by. Biting your lip, you knock again.

 

“Hello -?”

 

A taloned hand grabs your collar. So swift it was, you had no time to scream. The next thing you knew, you’re pulled into a cramped but cosy room. A cauldron bubbles merrily away in the center. Books are piled from floor to ceiling, threatening to topple any moment. Herbs, charms, and wind chimes hang from the ceiling and walls. A pleasant and cold peppermint smell invades your nose. It smells of home.

 

“Hm, hm, yes this shall do.” A feminine voice rasps next to your ear.

 

All you saw was a silver blue flash. The taloned hand is quick, grabbing a fistful of your hair, and _snip_! There goes a chunk of your bangs. You can only gape.

 

A hunched woman shuffles over to the cauldron. What strikes you most is her untamed and wild hair. It’s unlike anything you’ve seen before. She probably hasn’t brushed for years. It’s wispy, sticking out in ridiculous directions. Silver with blue streaks. You gawk, stupified for words. _Definitely a witch._

 

She tosses the hair - your hair - into the simmering liquid. It hisses, eating up the strands. The liquid fades into an ambiguous purple. The old woman nods, satisfied.

 

“Yes, yes, that did very nicely.”

 

“ _Excuse_ me.” You finally say, getting over stupor. You hate how your voice cracked, unsure and childish. “W-why’d you -” You reach for your hair, feeling the split ends. You sputter even more. “ _My hair_!”

 

She hardly gives you a glance. You wouldn’t be able to properly to see her face anyway, it’s obscured by that bird’s nest of a hair. Immersed in her occult, she hums a mindless tune.

 

Her hands are always grabbing - snatching a leaf here, scooping some spice there, and seizing an herb from a little bit of everywhere. Either way, it all goes into the pot.

 

Each new ingredient has a different effect on the mystery soup. One moment it’s a minty green, and then it darkens into bloodred, and now a pretty pink smoke is spilling from the sides. Thankfully, none of this smells foul. That cold peppermint scent stills tickles your nose.

 

“Ahem.” You try again, attempting to deepen your tone to exert some authority. “Witch Carrows, I am [Full Name], and I come -”

 

“Stop. You’re already dead.” She interrupts. “Is this how your village raises the young? Ignorant and sheltered?” Carrows turns around, and you see her face for the first time. Beady gray eyes peer and judge you from behind gold rimmed glasses. They’re something akin to a beetle - shiny and blinking, but most of all, intelligent. She’s smiling a toothless grin. “And that’s what they call me nowadays? A witch? I ought to be insulted, but I’m not the petty sort.”

 

Just when you were about to question her, she begins hacking something up. It’s a wet and barking sound, deep from her chest. She inhaled and spat into the cauldron. You make a face. Disgusting. The liquidy contents froth, nearly tipping over.

 

“What do you -”

 

“Bah, don’t bite your own tongue.” She bats her hand in the air, and motions for the door. “Turn back child. The Forest is not a fit place for naive fools like you.”

 

That dismissal was _tempting_. Running back home, back to your parents arms, back to your bed. Abandoning this task. All the while a curse eats away the village, your land, your home. It would be nice to be selfish.

 

You squeeze your eyes shut.

 

Tempting, yes. But not an option.

 

“First of all, I am _not_ a child.” You say through clenched teeth. “And I don’t need your approval. I am going into the Forest, whether I want to or not. I have to go to Grandmother’s. I must.”

 

Carrows slows down, glancing towards you. Her glasses are completely fogged at this point. Damn. It’s hard to read her expression.

 

“ _Grandmother’s_ ? _The_ Grandmother?”

 

“Yes.” You confirm, eager that you finally caught this eccentric woman’s attention.

 

She studies the cauldron thoughtfully.

 

“That serious, hm?”

 

“Very.”

 

Carrows keeps that thoughtful expression. She reaches over to a table, grabbing a wooden spoon, and begins stirring. Then, she leans herself into the cauldron, looking as if she were about to dip her face into whatever horrid soup she’s concocting.

 

“What are you -”

 

“Quiet child, I’m whispering my lies.”

 

You give up, falling silent. You’ve only spent a few minutes with this oddball, and you already learned that questions will not be easily answered. The witch rapidly whispers into the bubbling liquid. It’s too inaudible for you to make out. Ink pools from her mouth, swirling spirals into the frothy pink. Eventually, it flattens into an unextraordinary white. If you didn’t know better, you’d think she was boiling milk.

 

And then, she straightens her back.

 

“First of all child, **never** give out your True Name. Not even your name. Never give _anything_ for free, unless you read the contract and know your bargains.”

 

You jump at how sudden she is. “My name?”

 

“That’s right. Never give it away. They’ll hold power over you. First the names, then the body, then - the heart.” Carrows rapidly stirs clockwise as if her life depended on it. Her wrinkled face is crumpled, concentrated and grim.

 

“What does that even -”

 

“And the food. Dear maidens above, I hope those simpletons didn’t send a useless child into the Forest, _without food_!”

 

“I am not useless!” You protest, heat rising in your cheeks.

 

Once again, Carrows doesn’t address your comment. She stops stirring, shambling over to you. Without asking, she unbuckles your basket and flips it open.

 

“Hey!” You shut it, a petty attempt to get back at the insensitive witch.

 

“Stop your fussing. Want to make sure you’re not _completely_ unprepared.” She grabs it from your hands, rummaging through the basket. “Hmm, bread, cheese, meat...should last you these dangerous seven days... _salt_ , ooh, your family does know a thing or two!”

 

You couldn’t help but peer over Carrows’ shoulder. The basket is brimming. Your parents must have spent the entire night packing it...They probably even gave you the bread they’ve been trying to save for another week. Are they at home right now, trying to eat their afternoon meal? Trying to eat at a table where one chair is empty?

 

Your eyes begin burning all over again.

 

“Aah, this is a _fine_ work of art!” Carrows’ trill and raspy voice snaps you out of the melancholy. Now she’s inspecting your cape, lifting and tugging it like a specimen. She pets the material, wearing a crooked smile. “I suppose you villagers aren’t a bunch of twats, knowing something about protection charms…!”

 

Indignant, you jerk the cape away from her taloned hands.

 

“May you just give me a blessing and I’ll be on my way?”

 

“Sharp tongue you got there. Good. They’ll like that.”

 

“Who’s _they_?” You ask, exasperated.

 

She returns to the cauldron, dipping her finger into the milky liquid. You flinch, but she doesn’t. She squints at the substance on her finger, and rubs it away on her apron.

 

“They. Them. Fairies. _The fair folk_ .” For the first time, Carrows lowers her voice. She speaks of them with something akin to respect. Her wrinkled face stays somber, as she dips a vial into the liquid. “They _can_ be kind, you know.” She adds on.

 

Your slightly fearful expression doesn’t change. You heard too much horror stories, growing up. Stories about demonic horses drowning children, people dancing themselves to death, people wandering from the path and becoming lost forever...

 

“You just have to earn it. Keep your wit. Play their games. Show respect.”

 

You listen slowly, your mind scrambling to remember this vital information. Each ominous warning has your heart grow heavier each second.

 

“They can’t lie, you know. Them fair folk.” Carrows begins to explain. “They can’t tell nothing but the truth. I wouldn’t recommend cheating. Since they can’t lie, they absolutely despise it if you try lying to them. All sorts of misfortune can befall you…” Her back is turned to you. She is moving books and pots around, searching around the tables for something.

 

Panic seizes your thoughts. “Then what shall I do?”

 

“ _Use_ their words against them. _Choose_ your words carefully. And avoid metaphors and similes at all cost! Be straight to the point.” She turns around, three items in her arms. A candle, a necklace, and mirror. Carrows hurries to you, looping the charm around your neck. You recognize it’s a vial of the milky stuff from the cauldron. It’s warm against your chest.

 

“I bless you with three charms.” Carrows waves a pointy nail in your face. “I brewed this myself.” The milky liquid swirls in the vial, shimmering in the firelight. “I find it’s useful for mending _broken_ things.” You open your mouth to ask a question, but of course she cuts in. She waves the next gift in your face.

 

“A candle. Whenever you find yourself in crossways, light it. The flame will flicker towards the correct path. Use it conservatively. The wax melts quite easily.” She carelessly dumps it into your basket. Thankfully she had the goodwill to toss in a matchbox as well. You mutely nod your thanks.

 

“A mirror.” You look closer at it. It’s silver and rusted. The glass is opaque and empty. A gasp escapes you.

 

“There’s no -”

 

“Reflection. This mirror has always been unreliable. Perhaps you can find use in it.” Into the basket it goes.

 

You make a face, wondering if this old woman could be anymore callous. True you are grateful for these blessings, but the third one is nothing short but useless. If Callows couldn’t find purpose in it, what could you possibly do with a mirror that doesn’t even work?

 

“Thank you.” You still say anyway. You’re going to have to count all the blessings you can get.

 

She nods mindlessly, already leading you to the door.

 

“Yes, yes, come along now. They’re waiting.”

 

Your mouth goes dry. She’s kicking you out already? The childish part in you wanted to stall the inevitable.

 

“W-won’t you walk with me? T-t-to the entrance…?”

 

She shakes her head, her silver blue hair bouncing from the movement. Callows reaches on her tiptoes, putting a hand on your shoulder. She squeezes, showing sympathy for the first time. Her beady gray eyes are frank with you.

 

“This is a journey you must begin alone.”

 

You’re already pushed gently on the doorsteps. Helpless, you look at her for more answers, some comfort, anything. Her eyes soften at the corners.

 

“I can only offer you one last piece of advice, my child.”

 

You swallow thickly, steadying your beating heart. The vial is still warm against your chest. It’s comforting.

 

“What is it?”

 

Callows inclines her head, raising a hand between her mouth and your ear.

 

“ _Don’t trust men in top hats_.”

 

You blink. Did you hear her correctly? What do men in top hats have to do with anything? By the time you tried comprehending this baleful warning, the door has already shut.

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: holy shit, i wrote like eleven pages for this chapter. this is the most i've written in awhile. i know there was no black hat or other villainous characters yet, but hopefully you guys enjoyed the worldbuilding, magic, and OC i wrote into the story!

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be honest y'all, I literally created this AU an hour ago. I just thought 'damn, i like fairy tales. i also like villainous. i also like reader stories. let's mash them all together and see what happens.' If y'all like what you read so far, leave a comment! I wanna read your thoughts!


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